It's a funny thing, to take a small break from this space. When I come back, it's like peeking into a room that has been closed up for a while. Things are a bit dusty, but the joy of the familiar floods back as I wander around, lovingly exploring what was once part of my daily life.
I'm in a resting phase right now. I've set aside my knitting basket and the many projects I always have on the go. I've turned off the computer. I've been reading "young adult" novels, and sleeping lots. I've been reading lots of story books to my little ones, and snuggling up on the couch to watch movies I've seen a million times. To say my children are enjoying this time with me would be understating it. I'm summoning the energy to get through my days at work, and drawing so much joy from growing seeds with my little Kindergarten students.
I'm learning to be patient with this early-pregnancy exhaustion, and am breathing in surrender to this unexpected life event. I'm overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity of this man I married, as he happily makes grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner (again) while I rest in bed. I'm considering ways to stay healthy, both physically and mentally, and wondering how to best serve myself and my young family at this time.
I've been composing "Dear John" letters in my mind, or more accurately, "Dear Facebook", "Dear Twitter", and "Dear Pinterest" letters. Turning the computer off has freed up hours of time in a week, and although I can't say I'm using that time to do mind-bogglingly wonderful things, I'm using them to do everyday things: staying on top of Mount Washmore (the washing and sorting of clothing for a family of five), wandering aimlessly outside with my rubber-booted kids, lying down in an afternoon sunbeam to pet the cat, and saying "yes".
While many things have been gained through my use of the Internet, I am beginning to suspect that just as much has been lost. Thankfully, I know these "lost things" are not irretrievable. Today I can colour until my children say we're done (instead of slipping away as soon as possible). Tomorrow I can write a letter to a friend, and mail it with a stamp, anticipating her surprise when she finds a brightly-coloured envelope in her mailbox. This week I can sit and drink tea while just looking out the window, or pull a few weeds, or set aside my impossible to-do list to just rest and be in this beautiful life of mine.
I'll pop in now and then; I'm thinking that my journey into the second trimester may bring with it renewed energy and a willingness to spend my time "connected". For now, I'm truly connecting with those that matter most: the real, physical people that populate my days. I'll share my "Dear John" letters one of these days. I'm having fun writing them.
Go take a big breath of apple-blossoms, find a frog, listen to the birds singing, compare the shades of green around you. Encourage your little ones to find a stick as long as their foot, a rock as long as their thumb, a plant as tall as they are. Breathe it all in.